


Grey Dust to Sparkling Gold

by GwiYeoWeo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Aulea is cool and more importantly alive, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, ardyn is a bit of a mess but things only get better, niflheim learns to chill out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:52:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: Adagium was supposed to be a daemon, a powerful monstrosity the Founder King and the Oracle had sealed away. A fearsome creature that corroded everything in its wake, that burned innocent villages to the ground and held its victims under its thrall, the old texts had said.Adagium wasn't supposed to be a man.“What in the Six —”“Clarus.” Regis sucked in a sharp breath and put one foot forth, eyes trained on the prisoner. “We're getting him down.”Regis seeks out the old legends for himself and discovers there's more to it than fantastical tales of kings and daemons.





	1. Buried Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> _/screams into the void_  
>  Episode Ardyn, my dudes. It just so happened I was cooking up this idea when I saw the [kinkmeme here](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11590458#cmt11590458), so two birds with one stone!

It had been a year too long. 

They had all seen it coming, the looming omen that cast itself as a black veil over the entire kingdom. King Mors would die — an early death, so very like the kings before him. Just another token for the Crystal to take. Regis had steeled himself for the worst, throwing himself into the Crown's duties and to the political wolves, in preparation for the inevitable day. Insomnia had mourned the King's death — some celebrated it — but Regis had mourned for a lost father. Cor and Clarus each had their respective duties, Cor struggling with his switch from Mors to Regis and Clarus bearing the full weight of his own father's heavy mantle.

And while his friends had done the best they could to keep each other afloat, Aulea, dear sweet but fierce Aulea, held him through the nights where his grief and the Crown's weight proved just a pound too heavy, and carefully chipped away at the massive burden until Regis could carry it again. 

Regis spent blurry days and sleepless nights to get the council under control. “Old farts” Aulea called them, and Regis couldn't disagree. So early in his twenties, they thought him weak, a young fledgling king to control and string along like a puppet. He was anything but. He blazed paths and set down new laws, cut into pointless decrees and paved new roads through their old stuffy puritan traditions. He commanded with a fire he had adopted from Aulea, struck down the council's hubris with the tempered blade in his voice and the electric threat in his eyes. Commanding and building the foundation of his authority was an intricate art, the thin line between regal king and unrelenting dictator a spider's thread but he would not betray the namesake his father had bestowed upon him. 

Only when the council was cowed, having elected Clarus in their ranks a monumental relief, and Niflheim temporarily abated beyond Lucis’ borders — the spy network reported them to be occupied with some scientific discovery and their King's ailing health — did Regis remember an old story hidden away in his father's belongings, a whimsical tale of the Founder King and his ascension to the throne. But beyond that, he remembered his father's near mania of securing the islands off Galdin Quay, going so far as to station guards on Angelgard. 

A monster was sealed in there, apparently, and it was their duty to keep it that way lest destruction fall upon their fair nation. And the whole world. Older now, Regis didn't believe in fairy tales, but the mystery on Angelgard could very well be that truth; he had spent an entire roadtrip slaying and sealing daemons, after all. Mors had placed restrictions on the island, going as far as forbidding his own son to go near it. 

Now though, there was nothing left but to carry on his father's duties. And with Niflheim pulling back their forces from Lucis’ borders, he'd need to use this window of opportunity and pay a visit soon. 

  
  


 

The sun dipped just below the horizon. With Clarus at his side, they stepped off the royal vessel, the ride from Insomnia to Galdin to Angelgard surprisingly tame and enemy-free. Cor had been right; whatever it was, Niflheim was too busy cooing and marveling at their scientists’ invention, a concern to mull over at a later time. The guards who had once been stationed here were absent, died during the invasion from what Regis had heard. He tipped his head toward the rusted remains of old weapons scattered across the dirt and stone, silently thanking them for their service. Behind him, he heard the faint rustle of fabric and the ring of steel as Clarus paid his own quiet respects. 

The ancient walls moved easily enough, responding to the Ring and the royal magic in his veins, the stone crumbling and scraping as it parted under Regis’ outstretched hand. He paused at the edge, where the weeds and dry sprouts of grass ceased and gave way to old architecture, to the entrance of a timeworn prison and a daemon's coffin. He hesitated, feeling the dim thrum of magic wafting through the corridor. Sealing magic, he knew, but the minute elements woven into it had him concerned and doubting. 

The design of the magic had decayed over time, over two millennia if he was correct, but this wasn't a seal to lock away a simple demon; from what he could tell, by the sixth sense that was bred into the Caelum line, the foundation of it all took its origins from old arts made to imprison criminals and outlaws — humans. There was a darker secret here, not just a children's tale of righteous kings taming evil monsters. 

Regis breathed in, nerves made steady, and started down the stairs when Clarus placed a firm grip on his shoulder. 

“Hold now. Where do you think you're going?” There was a lilt of amusement in his voice but an admonishing hint in his eyes and raised brow. “Last time I checked we're just strengthening the seals, not daemon slaying. Cor won't be happy to know he's left out.”

“I believe there's more to it than a locked away daemon.” He turned his gaze over his shoulder, glancing down at the hand for a moment before looking at Clarus. “I only ask that you trust me.”

Shaking his head, Clarus withdrew his hand to lightly set it atop the hilt of his sword, a modest longsword compared to the great chiseled blade hidden away in his King's Armiger. He leveled a look at Regis, his eyes only half admonishing in the way he often shot at Regis in their younger years — and still did. “I'll do my job as Shield, Regis, even if it means following you and your stupid ideas.” 

Regis nodded his head and offered a smile of thanks; for all their teasing and goading and heated arguments, he’d forever hold that piece of infinite gratitude, Shield or not. It’s all that took to light that flame in his step again, to push him over the small cracks in the stone that so seemed like deep chasms and craters in the earth’s crust. Funny, how he had set himself forth with such ferocity and thunder to pick up his father’s legacy and an entire kingdom, yet this tiny stone prison was enough to wedge all doubts in his chest. But he would press on, discover the answer to this ill aching in his chest and the throbbing uncertainty beneath his skin.

He followed each careful step, Clarus trailing at his heels, letting the dying sunlight and the growing unease guide his way. He followed the flowing cracks, remnants of Ramuh's judgments made in shattering electricity. He followed the old runes, markings of Old Lucian borrowed from Solheim's legacy, that lent their power to the binds and seals etched into the prison. He followed, until he could follow no more. Not because he reached the end and could go no farther, but because the dread in his heart turned to ice in his legs, freezing the blood in his veins and weighing his feet like solid blocks of ice. 

Clarus was the first to break the silence with a hissed curse. 

“Adagium.” 

Regis’ whisper came so softly, lost in the waves that gently crashed against the island and in the cry of gulls above, but it was a roar in his ears that even drowned out the rush of blood in his skull. 

Adagium was supposed to be a daemon, a powerful monstrosity the Founder King and the Oracle had sealed away. A fearsome creature that corroded everything in its wake, that burned innocent villages to the ground and held its victims under its thrall, the old texts had said. 

Adagium wasn't supposed to be a man. It — no,  _ he,  _ wasn't supposed to be a man in full flesh and living skin, still breathing and alive after two thousand years spent in isolation on a deserted island. Not with heavy chains piercing into his arms and chest and bone, imprisoning him in a twisted exhibition that showcased him to an empty audience. 

Until Regis and Clarus arrived. And gods, was it really two thousand years? If what little Regis could glean told him nothing but lies, this Adagium could have been damned for far longer than the texts had described. 

Suddenly there's movement, accompanied by the rattle of chains and weak coughs; he's all haggard and suddenly gasping for breath like a drowned man given but a straw. He may have heard them, heard Regis’ horrified whisper and Clarus’ sharp disbelief, or was roused through their foreign presence alone. He moved, barely, the slightest movement echoing the binds that chained him, but that's as far as he managed, his head weakly hanging and chin tipped to his chest. It's as good as an acknowledgment they would get. 

“What in the Six —”

“Clarus.” Regis sucked in a sharp breath and put one foot forth, eyes trained on the prisoner. “We're getting him down.”

“Regis! This could be a trick, for all we know. A daemon playing illusions on us.” Clarus, ever the wary, his caution having  saved their hides more times than Regis cared to count. Under any other circumstance, it would behoove him to listen to his Shield's warnings, but his instincts screamed and his magic pulled. His bloodline tugged so incessantly that he thought they might spill from his very pores. 

“Trust me.” Regis was already stepping over the broken stone and bricks, caring not for the dust that he kicked up. Clarus grumbled something, but he knew his friend would obey — and already had, judging by the strides behind him. Regis tugged on his leather gloves, making sure they were taught around his fingers. He set three light fingertips to the man's cheek, felt warmth and the faint magic dying below his skin. Magic that resonated with his own and chased after the familiar bond, some elements twisted and wholly different but the unmistakable Caelum framework was there. 

This made no sense. 

“Adagium.” Regis tried again, hoping to rouse the other and coax any sort of response. 

A shudder and a breath. “... Come to end my torment?” His voice came out dry and brittle, as if he had sandpaper scrubbed down his throat; Regis wondered how he even had a voice at all. “Somnus.”

Again, Clarus cursed. Regis’ mouth fell into a thin line, his tongue dry and suddenly a foreign weight. Somnus, the Founder King. That part was true then, that the legendary king had sealed  _ someone _ away. 

Regis carefully felt along one of the chains, keeping great care to not pull or tug. The last thing he wanted right now, was to make a wrong move and make all of this worse. There was Caelum magic here too which, judging by the foreign traces, had once been bolstered with the aid of an Oracle. He sent his magic out, seeking to undo the binds the First had set, but was met with a fierce resistance that nearly  _ repelled _ him. It was enough to force him one step back. 

And also, enough to earn Adagium's swift wide-eyed stare, a golden swirl of confusion and incredulity — and grief, an overflowing sorrow that could fill the Northern Lakes of Lucis. 

“Somnus?” he croaked. “You are not…  _ Who? _ ” 

Regis didn’t mean to ignore his question, but he kept his lips sealed shut and his brows furrowed. Questions and answers could come later; right now, he needed to find out the right magic to undo the binds. Somnus’ magic worked on a peculiar wavelength, at least in this instance, that seemed to deviate from the core of Caelum magic entirely. To keep anyone and everyone, even his future descendants and successors, from unlocking the seals. But Regis was persistent, aggravatingly so according to Aulea, and he’d pick through these locks like a thief after the Crown jewels. It almost made him feel criminal, to be breaking relic magic set by the First himself, but that only meant his rebellious phase hadn’t left him just yet.

But when he did,  _ finally,  _ there was a collective sigh of relief that not even the rattle of the chains could drown out. Clarus was at the ready, catching the near lifeless body that fell at the slightest give, Regis at the flank and lending his own support. 

“Who — what is… Who are you?” Adagium slurred, eyes focusing in and out and fighting to remain conscious. 

“At ease. Rest.” Regis slung an arm over his shoulder, hooking his hand around the man's waist. Clarus did the same, and they each tested the weight they held. 

Adagium nodded weakly, now too weary to do much else but let out a soft sob and allow himself be carried out. 

There was little light left, the sun having fully given way to the waning moon and her dim stars, but the lights left turned on across the ship was more than enough to lead them. Regis didn't bother to pause and seal the stone walls again, leaving them wide open as they made their way to the ship. 

“So,” Clarus grunted out, laying the man across the the couch, “no illusion. And no daemon.”

Regis stepped back, dragging a hand down the side of his face and stepping beside Clarus to observe the unconscious man. “No daemon.”

If anyone else knew about the lie hidden away by the Founder King, the historians and perhaps even the media would have an absolute fit, given how his legacy had been hailed throughout Lucis. They even had a holiday devoted to him, for gods’ sakes. 

“No one else can know — for now.”

“No one?” Clarus asked. 

Regis shook his head, retracting what he had just said. “Aulea, Cor. But no one else, not even Titus.” 

Clarus only hummed in agreement, and turned to the captain's seat. Regis ducked away to rummage through their supplies, searching the drawers and boxes. “We'll need a cover story,” he sighed, pulling out an old wool blanket and airing it out. It had certainly seen better days, but he'd rather not let Adagium shiver in the cool sea air. “Any ideas?” 

“The old bleeding heart story,” Clarus called out. “You found an injured man by the wayside, after you reinforced the seals and were returning home. You, with your heart of gold and infinite grace, wanted to take the man in while I, the ever hard-ass Shield, said no but gave in to your annoying ‘I'm a king who protects his people’ rant. The end.”

Regis wrinkled his nose, looking up from where he had just laid the blanket across Adagium. “We used that excuse last time. Too overdone, don't you think?” 

From his seat, Clarus shrugged and flipped a switch, the ship whirring and groaning as it retracted its anchor. “At least the Citadel will lap it up, even the paparazzi if word gets out. You want an embarrassing story instead? Something about brazen youth and foolish bets?” 

Regis sighed. “The bleeding heart story it is.”

  
  
  


“Neither of you thought to put a shirt on him?”

Aulea brushed passed them, making sure to put an extra shove in her shoulder when she squeezed past Regis. She huffed and tossed her head, flicking her black locks behind her ear as she rolled up her sleeves and decidedly went to work. She pulled back the worn blanket the two rolled him up in, throwing the ragged thing on the floor before pinching the sleeves of the largest cotton shirt Regis owned and fluffing it out. 

“And I won’t even ask why you decided to bring him to your room instead of the medical wing, because I’m sure you’ll give me a very thorough explanation rather than that shoddy short version over the phone.” She placed the shirt on the bed and leaned over the man, one hand feeling against his neck for a pulse and the other pressing exploratory fingers over his chest and ribs. 

The physical glance was quick; check to see if he was indeed alive, breathing fine without obstruction, no dire bleeding wound in sight. She sent her own magic out, let them gently flow from her fingertips and seek out any internal damage they may have missed. She wasn’t sure what to expect, given the two-minute rundown Regis had told her on the phone call. The man, Adagium he was supposedly named, had been locked away for possibly two thousand years, and what sort of damage that could or could not have done she didn’t know. 

But she certainly didn’t expect the gaping darkness that opened its bloody maw, snapping its jaws and trying to  _ devour _ her magic. Aulea hissed, pulling away her hands and shaking off the phantom sensation. Whatever she caught a glance of, it was certainly dark. Whether or not that darkness was inherently evil was a question that still remained in the air. 

Regis was quick to rush behind her, steadying her elbow in his hand while he placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. “What was that? Are you —”

“I’m fine, Reggie.” She patted his hand, reassuring him with a small smile. “I think you should be more concerned for your friend. There’s… something there. I don’t know what it is or what kind of danger it is, but it’s not exactly nice.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring,” Clarus muttered, rounding the bed and standing at the opposite side. 

“What’s not reassuring is getting a phone call at 5 a.m. and being told the Founder King is possibly a sham,” Aulea shot back, eyeing both of the men. “And we’re going with the ‘o-dear-King-Regis-and-his-soft-heart’ story? We  _ just _ used that last week. Oh and Clarus, put that shirt on him please, I’d hate for him to catch a cold right after getting freed from jail.” 

“As for you, Reggie,” she said, turning her attention to the husband-to-be, “I love you, but I’m not sure I love the idea of you keeping another man in your bed. I’m sure it’s a scandal waiting to happen, but if you’ve been having thoughts on an open relationship then you really should have shared that with me —”

_ “Aulea, please. _ ”   

She smiled, more teeth and all warm mirth. “I’m kidding. But is he staying in your bed for the night? Where will you sleep? I’ll always welcome you into mine, but you know those old farts and their prude traditions on marriage and sex. Gods forbid you share a bed with your fiancée!” Her hand flew over her chest in a mocking rendition of dramatics, her lips slightly parted in a gasp. 

“I may just have to risk it for tonight.” Regis pressed his lips to her temple. “Clarus, I’d hate to burden you, but there’s no one I can ask right now. Would you stand guard for the time being? Just long enough to catch a few hours of sleep, then I’ll sort everything come the morning.” 

“Hmph, you’ve asked far worse of me. I don’t see how I can’t, so go get some shut-eye.” Clarus said, having just finished dressing Adagium in the shirt. The man didn’t even stir or groan during it all; he could very well be dead with how sickly ashen his skin was, his slow breaths the only real indication he was actually alive. 

“Oh, what would we do without you,” Aulea cooed, pulling away from the bed and tugging Regis along with her. She made a quick stop by Clarus, sparing him a quick kiss to his cheek. “Do let us know if he wakes or something happens.”

Clarus only made a shooing motion and bid them a silent goodnight, before grabbing one of Regis’ chairs and dragging it over to the bedside. 

Of the many shenanigans his King had gotten him into, this one was certainly unique. They had slayed daemons together, drove across the continent and then some, ran ridiculous errands and chased down cats for lonely old ladies. But this? Discovering some covered up secret hidden away by an ancient king in the form of a seemingly immortal man? He only hoped a happy ending waited in the end.


	2. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aulea sees the legendary terror for herself, but finds he's not so terrible after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guhhh there's so much more i wanted to add, but i didn't want to cram it all in one chapter ;w;
> 
> anyway, lotsa aulea and ardyn interaction here <:

Aulea waked first. 

It helped that she actually got a decent night of sleep, compared to Regis who rushed in before even the early rays of dawn could peak out. She quietly wrapped her robe around her, tying it in a lazy ribbon as she did her best to keep silent and sneak about the room afforded to her. 

She had only started living in the Citadel last year, despite having been betrothed to Regis for the past two, and her room was bare for the most part. Besides the essentials, she kept a few succulents across her desk and a fern in the corner. Her attendants had fussed about livening up her room, even if it was only a temporary thing until she would be officially married to Regis, and the plants were proof of a hard-fought compromise she had drawn with them. 

Blinking the bleary sleep from her eyes, she turned to gaze down at Regis who remained sound asleep on his stomach, one leg dangling off the edge and the other tangled in the blanket. Aulea thought to snap a picture, just to add to her growing collection of candid Regis shots, but dismissed the idea in favor of running her fingers through his bed hair. It was still damp from the haphazard shower he took only a couple hours ago, the shower only long enough to wash the dirt and grime from dungeon crawling through Angelgard. 

Regis shifted his arm across the empty expanse of the bed, fingers twitching for her missing warmth. But when he turned his head to farther bury his face into the pillow, Aulea decided he could use the extra hour of sleep and went off to toe on her slippers. 

The maids would certainly be miffed if they caught her walking down the halls, dressed in nothing but her modest nightgown and her robe, with her hair strewn about everywhere. Aulea understood the need for appearances given certain circumstances, even if it meant with agreeing with the old stuffy council members, but a woman was allowed to walk in her own home in her pyjamas if she damn well wanted to. She might not  _ yet _ be the official Consort, but everyone already revered her as such. All they needed was a paper with some fancy gold seal and it would be wham, bam, thank you before she could walk through all sixty-something floors in her underwear. Not that she would; she wasn’t as prim and proper as some of Regis’ matchmakers would like her to be, but she nonetheless kept a certain modesty and a standard of propriety she held herself up to.

At least no one caught sight of her, and she slipped between the lights and shadows easily enough as she made her way to Regis’ room.

Aulea entered without so much a knock, cracking the door open and poking her head in. She immediately zero’d in on Clarus, the man vigilantly sitting by the bedside and tapping away on his phone. “You look like hell.”

Clarus, with his grim dark circles, stilled his hand and lifted his head to glance at Aulea. “Been through worse,” he yawned, turning his face into the crook of his elbow.

Aulea rubbed her hands together, summoning some easy magic and igniting a soothing heat across her palms. Flexing her fingers, she ambled her way around the room and stood behind Clarus, lightly poking her fingertips around his neck and spine. “So,” she said, putting both hands on his shoulders and digging her fingers into his worn muscles. “This is Adagium.” Then a wrinkle of her nose. “Unfortunate name, by the way.”

Clarus sighed into her touch, leaning his back against the chair as he felt the heat radiate from her skilled hands. He twitched when she honed in on a knot hidden away between muscle and bone but kept his squirming to a minimum as she worked her literal magic. “That's what the books call him,” he answered, biting back a groan.

Aulea hummed in acknowledgment, but kept silent for the most part as she continued to work her way around the kinks and scars. She rubbed circles with her thumbs, using some elbow grease and pressing them deep into his flesh, just as her mother once taught her. “Go rest. I can watch,” she eventually said.

“Don't think Regis will appreciate me putting you on duty.”

“If he finds an issue, he can take it up with me.” She gave him a light shove on his arm. “Now go on, up and at ‘em.”

Whatever Clarus grumbled she didn't quite catch but it certainly had something to do with protocol and handbooks. He was more concerned with playing by the rules than leaving Aulea with a potential not-quite-a-daemon hazard sleeping in the bed, but they both knew she was a force in her own right. Worst case scenario, the room  _ and _ the entire wing would be left in rubbles. It may have been a couple years, but Aulea had a few notches in her belt of besting Clarus and putting his rump to the dump — Cor moreso, back in his reckless days of fiery youth. (With Regis, though, there was no concrete record, considering their spars ended up in accidental makeout sessions or cuddle times, when either of them collided into each other with uncanny timing. “Get a room!” and exasperated groans notwithstanding.)

Clarus had no doubt Aulea could fend for herself should something go awry, but he was personally tasked by King Regis to keep an eye over Adagium. As Shield, he desired to carry on his duty; as friend, he only wished to help. Yet it didn’t help that Aulea was prodding incessantly at him, and knowing her stubbornness could only be matched by Regis’, well… He was but a man.

He knew this. Aulea knew this.

She wasn’t a tactician. She would never compare to the bright strategists circling their war talks, but Aulea could be as shrewd as the conmen who made their home in the dark shadows and Insomnian nights. She knew when sweet rewards held more power than bitter words and sharp whips. And she knew how tired Clarus must have been, considering how Regis had tumbled into her bed like a dead rock without so much a goodnight kiss. 

Clarus had been given a losing battle from the get go, so the least he could do was bow out gracefully. So when he had finally relented, Aulea showed mercy and didn't even comment on the stumble in his step as he made for the door, to leave her alone by the stranger’s bedside. 

Aulea walked along the walls and made sure each heavy curtain was drawn closed, to keep out the morning’s early rays. Whenever the man decided to wake, she was sure he’d appreciate not having the bright sunshine burning through his eyelids. It didn’t help that Regis’ windows happened to face east and took the full brunt of the sunrise, a lesson she learned herself on a morning she had decided to sneak in the night before. 

She swiped a charging cable and one of the tablets hidden away in Regis’ drawers, taking them with her as she made her way back to the bedside. She plugged the charger in, settled herself into Clarus’ seat, and powered the tablet on. Tapping and swiping away at the screen, she typed in the four-numbered passcode and pulled up ChocoTube, a daughter platform for all things furry, fluffy, or cute. 

Today’s featured playlist was cats. 

  
  
  


“Good morning.”

Aulea didn’t even look up from the screen when she greeted the waking man.

She had her eyes glued on a litter of coeurl kittens, a mewling batch of little white furballs recently born in a conservation. According to the description, these particular species were close to extinction, having only a couple hundred left roaming in the wilds. Only when the video ended, with the camera fading to black and some white text with a link to the conservation’s website, did Aulea look up. She turned the tablet over, screen facing the man.

“Want to watch some cat videos?”

Adagium only stared, brows slightly knit together and lips trying to figure out how to make words.

In turn, Aulea silently studied him, watching for any sign or expression in that split moment it took for him to register her words. At a glance, he looked blank and clueless, like the trending video of that newborn chocobo staring at a single corn kernel and having no idea what it was. His dumbfounded look, she thought, would almost be as cute if it didn’t belong to a scraggly-bearded adult man. But she kept her focus on his eyes, the ways they flashed with emotion, and his mouth and jaw, where his lips parted or his teeth clenched. His eyes cycled through confusion and fear, caution and suspicion — and for a fraction of time, anger and contempt. She kept her magic at the edge,  _ just in case _ . 

But he made no motion, no twitch of his fingers, and the fleeting spite that glanced his face fell into confusion once more. Now, he only looked tired. Haggard. Like all he wanted was to go back to sleep and hibernate for the season, despite having two thousands years to do just that. If anything, it probably made his dark circles worse, now that Aulea actually made the effort to really  _ look _ at him. His eyes were horribly sunken and dark, skin dry and lips chapped; none of them got him cleaned up after dragging him out of Angelgard, so he still had a fine layer of dirt and dust on him. If he felt as much as he looked, he was probably in want of a nice warm bubble bath. 

Did Regis still have that jar of lavender bath salts under his sink? 

“I… What?” Adagium rasped. Something didn’t agree with him, and he turned his face down to cough into his fist. 

Aulea used her best disarming smile she saved especially for the old farts of the council, for the times when was simply not in the mood to argue semantics with them, to appear as an innocent docile woman who knew nothing of ancient rules and Lucian laws. 

“Cat videos,” she said, keeping her voice light and sweet. Rising from her seat, she slowly moved to sit on the bed, being particularly careful with her movements as she kept the screen facing Adagium. She tapped on the next video in the playlist, starting up a two-minute clip of a chocobo chick trying to nudge itself under the belly of a large and ridiculously fat cat. “See?” 

“…Oh.”

  
  
  


It had been the fourth video when Adagium spoke up, talking to himself more than to her. “This is not what I envisioned the Afterlife to be.”

Aulea, with a soft mirth to her quiet laugh, had pointed out this was far from the Afterlife, that they were both still within the living world. From there, the conversation had flowed easily enough, with brief pauses as Adagium occasionally coughed for that extra breath. 

If she had not heard the prologue from Regis himself, she would have thrown Adagium’s story right out the window and deem him as some lunatic wanting to take advantage of her good will. 

Because first of all, Adagium was not his name — it was Ardyn Lucis Caelum, older brother to Somnus Lucis Caelum. That wasn’t even the worst of it.

Aulea had left the tablet in Ardyn’s hands, letting him learn to fumble with the thing by himself, while she went to the small adjoining kitchenette to pour herself a glass of cold,  _ very cold _ water. 

She hovered over the sink, one hand clenching at the granite edge and the other dragging itself down her face. She wondered what exactly they got themselves into, why it had to happen during Regis’ reign of all times, and if maybe this was all some intricate lie crafted by a very cunning daemon. (That could shapeshift into human form? Ha! As if.) But as she pulled her hands away to fill a second glass, she thought, for the good of everyone and everything else but her and Regis’ sanity, that things would probably go worse if they had  _ not _ been the ones to find Ardyn. 

As much as they liked to joke about Regis’ soft heart, his gentleness had been one of his darling qualities she fell in love with, while also being responsible for the loyalty of Clarus and Cor. Mors, his father and late King, may have been more strict and utilitarian during his reign, but already Lucis was ready to turn themselves into the tender hands of Regis. The council had thought it a weakness to exploit, only to learn what a fierce lion paced just beneath, its fangs sharp and claws just as deadly. 

So perhaps, she and Regis were just the people needed to tend to Ardyn’s scars and trauma, to help heal what should have been cared for so long ago, to keep his open wounds from festering and falling to infection. To keep the Scourge that literally embodied itself into his skin and bones and his very cells. 

Aulea could feel the oncoming migraine from just  _ thinking _ about that. Slaying daemons, products of the Starscourge that addled their lands, and sealing them were one thing; but purging it from a seemingly immortal man who, from what both she and Ardyn understood — even the man himself wasn’t sure of the specific details and implications of it all — was something beyond the Caelum magic. This was Oracle territory. And not even Sylva Nox Fleuret had experience in something so severe. 

“Oh dear.”

Aulea turned around to see Ardyn holding the tablet, broken cleanly in half and sparking at its exposed wires, screen shards glittering on the silk bedding. He looked tragically concerned, torn between dropping the entire thing or trying to piece the broken parts together. 

“I… Killed it?” 

Not to mention Ardyn needed to play a game of major league catch-up. He had at least a couple thousand years’ worth to learn, and a whole curriculum on how phones and tablets work apparently. 

Aulea allowed herself one large breath, puffing her chest out as she filled her lungs to the brim, and slowly exhaled through her lips. She lightly smacked her hands on her cheeks, prepping herself up for whatever ordeal that was to come. Alright, put it this way: maybe the gods decided to give her a pre-test. Because if she could help an ancient-Caelum-turned-Scourge-grandpa learn how the modern age worked — and work through all the emotional and mental damage of a two thousand year (wrongful) imprisonment — then helping Regis run the kingdom should be a breeze. Or something.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aulea picked up the two glasses, made her way over to Ardyn’s side, and offered one of the drinks. “I’m sure you’re parched.” 

Ardyn didn’t have to say a word. He downed the entire glass in the same time span it took for Aulea to take one sip. Which made her feel rather foolish. For here she was, showing him cat videos when she should’ve addressed the basic needs first: food, warmth, rest, hygiene. 

Rest was out of the way, sort of. Water? Check. She could whip up something easy while he showered, so that would check off food and hygiene. After refilling his glass, she went into the bathroom and made a beeline for the cabinets, rummaging through the extra shampoos and soaps as she searched for a certain bottle. 

_ ‘Oh.’  _ She grabbed the little chocobo toy hidden beneath a spare hand towel, giving the rubber toy a squeeze. It squeaked, high pitched and sharp, and she gave it another quick squish. Huh, she didn't know this was still here. Did Regis? 

_ “What was that?”  _ she heard Ardyn say, curiosity quite piqued. Aulea smiled to herself, pocketing the toy in her robes as she pulled out a bottle of “Sal's Hubba Bubba Bubbles.” She placed it at the edge of the porcelain tub as she made her way back to the door. Aulea leaned her head outside the doorway, meeting Ardyn’s inquiring gaze with her own bright one, and pulled out the rubber chocobo. She gave it a squeeze, and Ardyn realized what the noise had come from, judging from the small ‘o’ of his lips.

“Ardyn,” she said, wiggling the toy around in her hand, “would you like to try a bubble bath?”

  
  
  


Regis walked into his bedroom, somewhat dark with all the curtains still drawn — odd, he thought — and if he did not believe in the love they shared and knew of Aulea’s eccentric quips, he would have doubted all their years together upon seeing her towel dry a half-naked man’s hair, the same man curled up in Regis’ favorite armchair and devouring a plate of scrambled eggs. 

There was a rubber chocobo toy resting on one of the arms.

His lips curled into a wry smile, audibly clearing his throat and earning both their gazes. Aulea looked only pleased as punch, though there was something tired around her eyes. Adagium, appearing far better and refreshed than when Regis had first laid eyes on him, still looked worn as the very walls that contained him, old and cracked in the most horrible of places, cold and hard deep within a shell. The bits of yellow egg around his mouth, though, somehow softened the image of a deadly beast that had once been chained within a stone tomb. 

“Good morning, Reggie.” Aulea fitted the damp towel around Adagium’s shoulders and walked up to Regis, wrapping her arms around his neck and greeting him with a quick peck along his jaw. “Say hello to Ardyn.”

Regis followed his gaze from Aulea's outstretched hand, a gesture pointed at Adagium, whose fork hovered midair on the way to his mouth. “Hello,” he said, before turning back to whisper close to Aulea. “Ardyn?” He raised his eyebrows, searching for the answer in her face. “His name is —” 

“Ardyn. Not Adagium.” Aulea tugged on his arm and led him to a chair across the small table, a short thing made of glass and elder wood that had certainly seen better days. “And you'll want to sit down for what you're about to hear.”

Regis was keenly aware of what should have been a working tablet instead of the broken pile of metal and scraps on his desk, but decided it was best to save that topic for later. Not to mention, Aulea held a glass of water obscuring his line of sight and intentionally blocking his view. He took the drink and sipped at it. 

“Ardyn, this is Regis,” Aulea introduced, handing a simple plate of scrambled eggs to him. 

Regis pushed the eggs around, not because he feared her cooking, but because he wasn't sure if eating was the best course of action, given her warning from earlier. And if Aulea didn't press him to eat, then, perhaps it was best to wait. 

“My hero,” Ardyn drawled, after swallowing his food. “And  _ very _ distant… Cousin?” 

“Nephew,” Aulea chimed in, all right as rain and nodding sagely. 

“Nephew then.”

“Pardon?” Regis looked from Ardyn to Aulea, then once more to Ardyn. 

“Something like that.” Aulea crossed her arms. Ardyn was too busy eating to give any commentary, but he at least nodded along to her words.

And while the two seemed to be on understanding and oddly friendly terms already, Regis was out of the loop completely.

_ “Pardon?”  _ he tried once again.

“Well —”

“You see —” 

Both Ardyn and Aulea started to speak, but they paused to look at each other, each of their mouths opening and closing with no words shared as they tried to figure who should go first. Eventually, Aulea gestured for Ardyn to say his part, and she filled in the gaps between. 

Still, Regis wasn’t sure if hearing it from Aulea lessened the wave of nausea that crept up the back of his throat and behind his eyes, and he wondered if he wasn’t back on the royal vessel, the waves softly rocking the ship; for even as he sat, his entire world was sent swaying, and the soft carpet beneath his feet felt unsteady as sand. 

“Oh, he’s taking it better than I thought he would.” Aulea patted him on the shoulder, and Regis considered it as more out of sympathy than anything. 

“Aulea,” Regis said, summoning forth all the seriousness he could muster, “it is still morning, and we both know I’m not a man of the drink, but if you would please.”

“Already have.” From seemingly out of nowhere, Aulea pressed a thick short glass into his hand, filled up to three fingers full of liquid dark amber. 

“I love you.”

“You better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so judging by my (poor) pacing, it might be one or two chapters before nocto(baby) gets to make his appearance :3c


End file.
